The Awakening
by Alex Skywalker
Summary: It's been five years since Dick was rescued from the hellish laboratory of Doctor Donovan and in that time, he's grown up: moving to Blüdhaven, taking on the persona of Nightwing, and butting heads with Bruce every step of the way. Now, an old threat rises from the past, shaking apart everything Dick has worked to build... Part III of the Behind the Mask trilogy
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm baaaack! Wow, probably thought you would never see me again! Well, here it is, the beginning to the third and final part of my Behind the Mask trilogy. It's been a crazy ride so far and I'm ready to finish it in style! Not much to say other than enjoy and thanks to all reading this whether for the first time or if you've been following me and this story for years. You guys are the best.

Points to anyone who can figure out where I got the inspiration for the title. Hint: I am a huge nerd.

* * *

It was an odd sensation, climbing in through your own window like you had the idea of robbing yourself or something of the sort. As it was, the window in question was actually very difficult to pry open - as much as Dick wanted to take pride in this as one of his ways of keeping _out_ criminals and other such unwanted guests, it was really just an old window that didn't much appreciate being opened. He had almost given up trying to get in and was considering how much damage he would do to the door and himself if he tried to kick it down when finally, whatever was locking down the outer glass gave way and the window finally slid up, black specks raining down from it in the process.

Hoping with everything he had that the specks weren't bugs, Dick squeezed through the opening and tumbled into his living room, somewhere between gracefully and pathetically. Rolling to his feet, he turned and slammed the window shut again against the chilly night air that promised October was drawing to a close and November was soon to be knocking on the door with all of its icy malice. As soon as he was sure that the window was shut and the blinds were down and maybe even the peephole on the door was covered, Dick ripped off his mask and let it fall on the couch, followed by his damp gloves. His boots were abandoned by the door and he began struggling with the zipper behind his neck as he made his way to the kitchen to start the coffee pot.

Yes, it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, but homework called, as did work work, and eventually he would need to organize his patrol notes into something more than an incoherent conglomeration of late-night babbling about drug-dealers with bad mustaches. Coffee was a must if Dick had any hope of doing any of the above in a reasonably coherent manner and besides, tomorrow was Friday and then it was Saturday and on one of the upcoming days he could catch up on sleep.

Once the coffee pot was off on its mission to brew some more mediocre, grainy joe, Dick skittered back to his bedroom to finish stripping off his soaking uniform. It was drizzling outside, the annoying situation where it seems as if the sky is leaking just slightly and the plumber upstairs is not very handy at his job. After nearly four hours on the streets, the drizzle had thoroughly soaked through Dick's gear and onto his skin and he was fairly certain it had even gone a step further and leaked into his organs and bloodstream.

As soon as the soggy Nightwing suit lay forlorn on the carpet, the shower was on full-blast and Dick was in the process of melting in the steamy-hot cubicle of heaven. Eventually the water turned cold and he was forced to abandon the oasis of bliss, vowing to pay his utilities bills the next day as he struggled into dry clothes and violently scrubbed his wet hair with a towel. It was getting long – the hair, not the towel, though a case could be made for the latter as well – and it resembled a rather spiky, ugly nest on top of his head, but haircuts were for the weak and Dick could survive a little volume. Alfred might not approve – Bruce probably wouldn't either – and Dick's head officer as the station kept making side-comments about owning a nice razor, but Dick had found that having short hair still triggered memories of the time after his rescue from hell back when he was thirteen.

Of course, his hair was hardly the most prominent reminder. Even now as Dick pulled a pair of athletic pants over his legs, he had to be careful to maneuver them around the hard metal brace encasing his knee so that they wouldn't snag on the edges. Every time he reached for something with his right hand he saw the shiny metal casing enclosing his fingers, down his wrist, to the middle of his forearm. Every time he now went to sign his name with his left hand, because his right wasn't adept enough for writing anymore, and watched the ugly scrawl grow under his undertrained hand, he remembered. Every time he looked in the mirror and saw the scar over his eye, or felt a headache pulsing from the occasional bout of blurry vision, he remembered.

After five years, he told himself he was over it. Well, maybe not over it, but he had come to terms with everything and learned to live around it. But it would be a lie to say that he didn't still wake up every now and then, covered in sweat, screaming silently as Miranda descended on him once more, whispering haunting words of passion and horror. He wasn't perfect and he wasn't Superman – in the literal or figurative sense – and the memories of the event still bothered him. Still troubled him. Still haunted him at night when a single light would flicker on somewhere out his window and he would _remember_.

But he was also human, and humans healed. He was better now than he had been at fourteen, fifteen, sixteen. He was nearly nineteen and, in some ways, many ways, he was better than he had ever been. He understood the world and the people in it in a deeper way than he imagined he would have had he never been locked away for three months with a megalomaniacal psychopath. He would still trade it all for the experience to be forever erased from his mind and body, but such genies did not exist and so he lived on. He had respect now from people older than himself that saw his scars and, even if they didn't know the story behind them, knew he had gone through some sort of hell and come out still fighting. He had that respect from most, except perhaps the one he craved it from so bad.

Leaving home had been hard, but not nearly as hard he had imagined when he'd been younger and schemed about it late at night with Wally and Artemis. It might have helped that he and Bruce hadn't been on good terms for the months leading up to the departure. Or the fact that Wally and Artemis had already took off for Stanford the year before. Or that he was almost an adult and had been accepted to Blüdhaven University and had a job at the police station and, with the help of a certain flying man, had created for himself a new persona to roam the streets of his new home. As he'd looked back one last time, that dark night when the rain had sluggishly leaked from the sky, and seen Alfred watching him from the window of the drawing room, because of course Alfred knew, and the old butler hadn't made any move to follow him or summon Bruce or even say goodbye, he'd known that it was time to leave. That had been almost a year ago.

Jason had been performing admirably as Robin, if not more violently than Bruce would have liked, and he and Dick had grown close over the years. But because of Jason, Dick wasn't needed anymore. Batman had a partner, Robin, and that was how it was supposed to be, and he didn't need another. Dick had felt a sense of loneliness those last few months, after Wally and Artemis were gone indefinitely and the Team was filling with younger, fresher faces, that he hadn't felt since he'd first come to the Manor as a newly orphaned child. It wasn't a feeling he'd ever wanted to experience again. So leaving had been hard, but it had also been easy.

After pulling on a pair of sweat pants and a baggy, ratty sweatshirt, Dick collapsed on the couch in the small living room and wished not for the first time that Alfred was there to make him dinner. Living off of takeout had been fun the first two days or so, and even peanut butter and jelly and frozen dinners hadn't been too bad, but after he started getting on a first name basis with the three Chinese delivery guys and the entire kitchen smelled of peanut butter, home cooked meals sounded like something out of a fantasy novel. Fantastic and utterly unattainable.

Alfred probably wouldn't have had any qualms with driving down and dropping off a fridge full of food, but that would have severely lessened the effect of Dick _leaving_ and claiming himself independent. He could hardly say he was stepping out from under Bruce's overbearing shadow if Bruce's butler was still feeding him on a weekly basis. At least Barbara had her occasional moments of thoughtfulness and would sometimes bring something her dad had made with her when she visited.

He and Barbara had been on-again-off-again for who knows how many years; probably since Dick had been old enough to understand that after you kissed a girl, you usually asked her out instead of letting her detangle your darkest secret and subsequently hate you for the next four months. So it was with most of his friends it seemed.

When Artemis and Wally had finally told Dick that indeed they were going to Stanford and becoming the preppy college-kids they'd never dreamed about being, he hadn't talked to them for three weeks. Sure, it was probably immature, but he'd only been sixteen and had a solid two years of immaturity left. His relationship with them now was rocky – probably more stable with Artemis because she always hated him for something or another so one more reason wasn't a real detriment to their friendship.

With Wally, however, things were difficult. Dick wouldn't say that he was still bitter about the speedster's decision to up and leave and pursue higher education over late nights in tights, but he was. It was Wally's decision, sure, but… Dick still felt like he'd been abandoned. It had been him, Wally, and Kaldur who had first started the Team (maybe Conner too, it was debatable). To have Wally walk away from it felt like abandonment. And with Roy off who knows where, trying to find his other self, clone, whatever, Dick felt… alone.

Dick eventually forced himself to get up again as his stomach continued to complain incessantly. Dwelling on the past was not going to make dinner, unfortunately. If it were the case, Dick would be eating four course meals six times a day. It really was a bad funk that he was stuck in. Pulling bread and peanut butter from the cupboards, he attempted to divert his overactive mind to other thoughts, like whether the specks of green on the bread were some type of seed or something more sinister. He was interrupted from his smell-test by the sound of a key turning in the lock of the front door.

It swung open after a moment and a very flustered Barbara spilled in, her hair wildly strewn about her face. Her cheeks were a light pink from the night air and she was dressed in a jacket and gloves with a scarf trailing off behind her.

"Oh, so you have my key then," Dick sighed, dropping the bread on the counter and deciding that it wasn't worth dying from mold poisoning for a sandwich made of peanut butter. He could just eat the peanut butter plain for the same affect.

"Yeah, you gave me one last week." Barbara tossed a single key to Dick and he caught it, the metal clanging softly against the metal on his hand.

"Oh yeah." Dick dropped the key on the counter. "I should probably get another one made."

"You don't have a spare?" Barbara started unwinding her scarf from her neck and peeling off her gloves.

"No. When they say 'efficiency', they go all out."

"I brought you food." Barbara detangled herself from a bag draped across her back and pulled out a white takeout container. "It's from the restaurant."

Barbara was currently undercover as a waitress at a restaurant in downtown Happy Harbor, doing a bit of investigative work on the manager for the Team. The food at the place was to die for and as an employee she got discounts on all the food at the end the of the night. Dick happily snatched the carton from the girl's hands, not the least bit guilty about resigning the peanut butter to the cupboard for another night.

"You're the best," he sighed, moving over to the kitchen again to hunt for a fork.

"You only tell me that when I bring you food." Barbara didn't follow him and instead claimed her favorite spot in the armchair to the right of the couch, kicking her booted feet up on the coffee table.

"Hey, no shoes in the house," Dick scolded, returning to the living room with a fork in hand, the delicious aromas already seeping out of the container of bliss.

Barbara ignored him, pulling out her phone and staring at the screen, her eyebrows drawing together.

"What?" Dick collapsed on the couch again, propping up his bad leg and popping open the takeout carton. It was some type of pasta with a smattering of shrimp and scallops, draped in a creamy sauce and topped with fancy little green things. Alfred would have been ashamed of his lack of knowledge of spices.

"It's my dad. Just said that he would be working late tonight."

"Doesn't he always?" The first bite was like tasting an angel, in a non-cannibalistic way.

"He doesn't usually text me about it. Must be something important." Shrugging, Barbara pocketed her phone and turned her attention back to Dick. She was still living at home, keeping her dad company and lending Batman the occasional hand in Gotham when she wasn't running with the Team. Sometimes it made Dick a little a jealous that she spent more time with Bruce than he did, even if it was caped and masked, but he had to remind himself that that was kind of the idea behind his leaving in the first place.

"Anything from the Bat?" Dick tried to wait to speak until he didn't have food in his mouth, but found it harder than originally conceived.

"No…. You?"

"I don't talk to him anymore."

"He was at the cave last night with Jason."

"And I wasn't."

"Sometimes you are so stubborn."

"I try."

"Chew and swallow, Wonder Boy."

Dick gave her something between a glare and a grimace as he struggled to swallow the copious amount of food he found in his mouth. Barbara watched him eat for a moment, though Dick could tell her mind wasn't really on his chewing and swallowing. Her eyes weren't focused and one of her fingers was tapping on her leg – in Morse code – like she did either when she was thinking or when she was nervous. When he was a little over halfway through his food, Dick took a moment to set his fork down and was about to speak when Barbara beat him to it.

"Did you see we made the front page?" She reached over the side of the chair where she'd dropped her bag and pulled out a newspaper, slightly damp and crinkly. She tossed it across the coffee table to Dick and caught it, unfolding it as he set the takeout container on the table.

The front page was nearly completely filled with a large picture of a flooded street in downtown Happy Harbor, Superboy and Wonder Girl framing the image on either side looking tough and a little muddy. The caption read: "Team of Young Heroes Mops Up Trouble Once Again in Downtown Happy Harbor".

"Clever," Dick grunted, sitting up and casting a look around the living area. "Of course Conner and Cassie are the poster children."

"Well, they are the nicest looking," Barbara smirked.

"I take that as an insult." Dick's eyes fell on the pair of glasses strewn across the end table to the side of the couch and he threw himself in the direction of them. Managing to secure them, he slipped them on scanned to the article. Of course they got most of the story wildly wrong; Clayface hadn't been working alone – in fact, he'd merely been a pawn in a bigger game the Team had been playing for months now – and there was no mention of Robin's daring endeavor in the pipes that had set the stage for the ultimate takedown of Clayface. There was plenty of attention paid to the new addition to the Team, Wonder Girl (and how wonderful she was) and Superboy's role in punching Clayface repeatedly which, apparently, was a huge help getting the monster blown up.

"Media," Dick sighed. "Jay's gonna be pissed."

"I thought he didn't like having his name in the paper?"

"Not as Jason, no. But as Robin, he would volunteer to be the front page every week."

Barbara laughed. Dick continued reading, scowling a bit more at the blatant lack of accurate reporting. Somehow, over the past years, he'd grown protective over the Team, now that he was their leader and everything, and if the media had to dig their noses into their missions then the least the reporters could do was get it right. Beast Boy had done more on this particular mission than Conner and he wasn't even mentioned.

"Have I ever told you how smart you look when you wear glasses?"

Dick glanced up at Barbara.

"Or how cute you look when you're angry? You get a little crease between your eyebrows and I can practically see your mask lines."

"You probably can. I ran out of solution to dissolve the gum…."

Barbara was suddenly sitting next to him on the couch, gently knocking the paper out of his hands. She curled her feet up underneath herself and reached out to touch Dick's face.

"There is one problem I have with the glasses." Her fingers latched onto the frames and gently tugged them off Dick's face. "They block your blue eyes. Have I ever told you blue's my favorite color?"

"No."

"Probably because it's not."

And then her lips were colliding with his and Dick felt the world melt away as he and Barbara slipped into some other reality where it was only the two of them and the sound of rain gently pattering on the window. Dick felt light – lighter than he'd felt in a long time – as the weight of the past weeks, months, years, lifted for but a moment. For but a moment he could be happy – totally and completely happy.

oOo

Dick woke up to the sound of his cellphone buzzing on the counter. Groggily he sat up, wincing as sore muscles stretched and protested his movement. After a long glance across the apartment, he sighed and leaned back against the couch, deciding that the call wasn't important, whoever it was. It stopped buzzing after a few seconds and Dick leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling and vaguely wondering why he had been sleeping on the couch and not his bed. Before he could come to a conclusion, his phone started buzzing again and Dick was up and across the room before he was even aware of what he was doing. He was too polite.

"Hullo?" He answered groggily, not bothering to check the caller ID.

" _Why don't you ever answer your damn phone?"_

"I just did," Dick sighed, sinking onto a stool by the counter. "What's up, Jay?"

" _You never called."_ Jason sounded peeved.

It took Dick a moment to remember. "You mean called Alfred? I never said I would."

" _You told me after the mission!"_

"I told you to _tell_ Alfred I would call him. I never actually meant to."

" _Why the hell not?"_

"Bruce is gonna be mad if he hears you swearing."

" _Shut up, Dick."_

"Why are you so upset I didn't call anyway?" Dick rubbed a hand across his eyes, forcing his exhausted body to wake up faster. He desperately needed some coffee.

" _There is a reason why Alf wanted to talk to you."_

"Because he knows I won't talk to Bruce?" Dick stood up and wandered over to the coffee machine, pulling the pot out from under the spigot.

" _There's some stuff he needs to talk to you about."_

"That Bruce told him?" Flipping the faucet on, Dick started to fill the pot, trying to keep his emotions under control. Steady, like the water. Relax, Jay means well.

" _Why does it freakin' matter?"_

"I don't want to talk to Bruce."

" _This isn't Bruce!"_ Now Jason sounded fed up and angry.

Knowing he was treading on thin ice and not wanting to destroy the relationship he had with his brother, Dick flipped open the lid to the coffee maker and carefully started pouring water inside. "Okay, what does he want to tell me?"

" _If you called him, he could tell you."_

"Why can't you just tell me?"

" _Why can't you just call him?"_

Deciding to play it Jason's way, Dick finished pouring the water and moved to throwing away the old filter and grounds. "Because I'm sure Bruce will be right there waiting to butt in."

" _Get over yourself."_ But Jason sounded more resigned than anything.

Dick knew his strained relationship with Bruce was hard on Jason – the kid was seeing the only real family he'd ever known be torn apart, and for that, Dick was sorry – but he also knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life crawling back when Bruce demanded. He needed distance from the man and if Dick still wanted to have any connection to the Team and his brother, then he needed to _not_ talk to Bruce for a while. Things would only get worse if he did and Jason probably knew this deep down because he was a smart kid.

"I'm really sorry, Jay."

" _Yeah, well this is important. I really think you need to talk to Alf. I'll make him promise not to let Bruce in the room or anything. Bruce doesn't even need to know."_

Dick knew that could never happen, but he heard a note of fear in Jason's voice he rarely heard. He also knew the kid really would try to keep Bruce out of the picture – he was a rebel in his own right, more so than Dick could ever be, and spiting Bruce was something of a pastime of his.

"Okay, fine, I'll talk to Alfred. But quickly."

There was some shuffling on the other end, then, in the background: _"Yeah, he says he'll talk. Hurry though, apparently he has places to be or something."_

Dick rolled his eyes, letting a small smile creep onto his face. Jason knew how to push Dick's buttons like no other, but he was also absurdly good at somehow improving Dick's mood.

" _Master Richard?"_ Alfred's voice crackled through the phone.

"Hey, Alf," Dick smiled, remembering that he had been preparing coffee and setting about to find the bag of grounds as he let the familiar voice bring him back home.

" _I hope you are doing well and not eating too much takeout."_

"Don't worry about me, I know how to cook – you did teach me." It was true, however little Dick actually utilized the skill. "Jason said you had something important to tell me?" Finding the coffee, Dick shoved a new filter in the machine and started dumping in the grainy brown powder.

" _Indeed. While Master Bruce was on patrol last night, he came across some… rather undesirable rumors."_

Of course this had to do with Bruce. Forcing himself to stay calm and not snap at the butler, because the man really didn't deserve it, Dick closed the lid of the coffee maker and turned it on. "What?" He asked, turning to the cupboards to look for a mug.

" _In the underworld, there seems to be rumors of some type of new… operation happening involving DNA experimentation and human mutation."_

Dick froze, a mug clasped in his damaged right hand, his heart leaping to his throat at the sound of the words. No, it had been five years, this was different, it wasn't the same, it was just a coincidence, baddies got involved in things like this all the time. Nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that would in any way tie this back to –

" _The rumor is,"_ Alfred continued, his voice as steady as ever, but suddenly quieter, subdued, solemn. _"The head of the operation goes by the name of… Doctor Donovan."_

 ** _Alex is in._**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

I'm alive! But seriously, it's been over TWO years, yikes. Don't worry, i didn't forget about this story, I just got... busy. But I guess I'm less busy, or something, and managed to crank out this chapter in like a day. I thought I'd lost the touch, but I guess not. Unless this chapter actually sucks, so lemme know. But anyways, Dick got a lil angsty here, guess the poor kid is going through some stuff, but moving out can do that to a person.

Anyway, enjoy and please, drop a review! Maybe I'll be inspired to update faster next time.

* * *

Stepping out of the car, Dick pulled his coat a little tighter around himself, both to ward off the chill in the air and the chill emanating from within as he stared up at the looming brick mansion in front of him. After thanking the taxi driver and leaving him a generous tip for his trouble navigating the sloshy drive leading to the manor, Dick squared his shoulders and prepared to make his way up the front steps.

Two feet into his journey, the flashbacks were already starting. Scenes played through his mind of running up the same steps as a young boy returning from school, eager to leave behind the stuffy uniform and heavy textbooks for Kevlar and lethal weapons. Then there were the nights he'd sneak out down the steps and run off to meet Barbara in her car down the drive, sometimes in the rain, or snow. The times he walked up the steps with Wally or Artemis, after school, to steal away a few hours of normalcy until duty called. The days when even walking up the steps was a struggle, his injured leg refusing to support his weight, or when the rain came and the pain returned, hot and angry.

In a way, walking up the steps was almost harder than approaching the door and knocking. Knocking, because he no longer lived here anymore.

Barking was the first sound to greet Dick's ears, followed by a shout and then the door slowly creaking open, the afternoon light spilling into the entryway. Frowning, Dick pushed the door open the rest of the way.

The entryway was empty, save for a pair of shoes scattered haphazardly to the side. Dick could hear a faint whine in the distance – Ace – but there was no sign of any being.

"Hello? Alfred? Jason?"

 _"Hyyyah!"_

Dick spun just in time to receive a foot to his chest, knocking him backwards into the now-closed front door. Instinct took over and Dick's hands flew up, blocking a blow to his face. His right leg came up and sent a kick at his attacker, nailing the person in the knees and knocking them back a few feet. Knowing better than to believe he was in the clear, Dick used the brief distraction to reposition himself away from the door and in more open space.

His attacker recovered quickly with a knee headed for Dick's abdomen, but Dick managed to block it and force the figure away again. This time Dick took advantage of the respite and sent a roundhouse kick straight for his victim's head. The boy dodged, but just barely. Believing he'd gained the upper hand, Dick threw his body forward in an attempt the gain a hold on his opponent, but as soon as he made a move, _something_ came out of nowhere and slammed into the side of his head. It was followed by a body ramming into his right shoulder and driving him into the wall.

"Pinned ya," Jason sneered, pressing his weight into Dick's side.

"Foul," Dick huffed, trying to shove his younger brother off him.

"Gotta protect your blind spot, Dickie. You're not wearing a mask out on the force."

Grunting because he refused to acknowledge his younger brother's _correct_ point, Dick managed to weasel his way free.

"Ah, Master Richard, so good to see you!" And then Dick found himself smothered again, this time in the front of Alfred's shirt as the old man embraced him.

"It's good to see you too, Alfie," Dick mumbled, taking a moment to breathe in the scent of pine and warm cookies.

After a moment, Alfred broke away and held Dick at arms' length, his eyes traversing the younger man's body. "My you've gotten thin, Master Richard," he pronounced, a crease appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Not utilizing those cooking skills, I see."

"He's always been thin," Jason scoffed, apparently miffed at being shoved to the side.

"Thanks Jay." Dick reached for the boy and caught him in a one-armed hug. "I've missed you too."

Jason growled something unintelligible, but didn't push Dick away.

"I have fresh cookies in the kitchen," Alfred announced, his face steadily brightening by the second. "I think we could all use the extra calories. Master Richard, if you'll give me your coat, I'll go hang it in the drawing room."

Dick slid out of his coat and then peeled off the gloves he was wearing, slipping them into the coat pocket before passing it all to Alfred. "Thanks," he smiled, giving the butler an appreciative look before turning and letting Jason lead him into the kitchen.

The smell hit Dick immediately as Jason pushed open the door and made a beeline for the counter. Dick followed, seemingly drawn by some invisible force to the enticing aroma wafting from tray of cookies. Both boys collapsed at stools around the table and, as if in a trance, both grabbed a cookie and ate two before they said a single word.

Dick spoke first, letting himself breathe after practically inhaling his cookies. "You've grown."

Jason snorted, nearly spewing cookie everywhere. "If I had a dollar for every time you told me that, I could buy a share in Wayne Enterprises."

"You already have one." Dick smirked. "And I say it 'cause it's true. You're nearly taller than me now."

"I probably am," Jason laughed, rising and turning to face the refrigerator. Pulling out a gallon of milk, the younger boy reached up in a cabinet and drew out two glasses, placing one in front of Dick and pouring milk into the other. Jason drank his entire glass of milk and poured himself another before sitting down again.

"You do look thinner," Jason commented, taking a sip of milk. He had a thin white layer on his upper lip.

This time Dick snorted. "You try going from gourmet, five-star meals prepared daily, to trying to live off ramen and take-out."

"And who's choice is that?" Jason growled, looking up at Dick from under thick, dark locks of hair.

"You know why I left, Jay."

"Yeah, 'cause you felt replaced."

Dick considered fighting back, but before he could think of what to say, Jason started talking again.

"So, how're you holding up? Do you like being a cop? Fighting injustice on the side of the law and all that?"

"Hah, yeah, live and die by the code, right?"

"C'mon Goldie, you love rules."

"Right, I moved out because I love rules."

"You moved out 'cause you wanted to have sex with Babs."

"What?!" Dick spluttered, caught momentarily off-guard. "You keep changing your story, Jay-bird." After a moment he added: "And I didn't need to move out to have sex with Barbara."

"Eugh!"

Dick laughed, a small smile creeping up on his lips. "I really did miss you," he said softly, reaching for another cookie.

As he did, he felt Jason's eyes travel to his hand and follow its progress across the table. The metal casing glinted in the fluorescent glare from the overhead light. Dick glanced over to see Jason's brow furrow as he raked his eyes over his older brother's crippled hand. Withdrawing his arm, Dick brought his left hand up to rub his forehead, closing his eyes before facing Jason.

"I'm doing okay, Jay." Dick knew the boy worried about him, no matter how much he put up the pretense that he didn't. "Really. Barbara comes and visits me all the time. The guys on the force are pretty cool; they've only asked me to get them coffee twice."

Instead of laughing, Jason glared at Dick as though trying to decide whether to believe him or not. Finally, he sighed, letting his head fall onto an arm propped up on the table. "Good."

"What about you?" Dick slowly withdrew his right hand from the table and let it fall into his lap. "How's school? The Team?"

"You'd know how the Team was if you ever showed up to the Mountain!" Though Jason raised his voice, there was no real venom in his statement. "School's fine, I guess. High School is dumb, everyone's a prick, none of the girls are hot."

"Sounds like a hard life to live," Dick laughed, letting his eyes wander over his younger brother. The boy was dressed in a non-descript sweatshirt and jeans, nothing to indicate attendance to Gotham Academy.

"Hey now, Babs wasn't always a looker, but you were taller than her so that's all that mattered in your book."

"Gah, Jason!" Burying is face in his hands, Dick shook his head slowly, wondering why he'd ever agreed to come back to the Manor.

He was saved from puzzling out the mystery of his actions when Alfred appeared in the doorway, followed by a massive body of fur. The fur let out a loud _woof_ before bowling past the butler and charging headlong at Dick.

Managing to extricate himself from his precarious perch on the stool just in time, Dick crouched down and let the mass of dog attack him with nuzzling and intermittent whines of happiness. "Hey Ace, I missed you buddy." Dick buried his face in the dog's shoulder, fingers tightening in the fur. "Whew, you still smell like dog."

Somewhere above him, Jason snickered.

"Master Richard, I hope you are making yourself at home."

"Yeah, thanks Alfred."

"If you're hungry, I can fix you something now. Otherwise, Master Bruce will be home at a quarter past six and we will be eating supper shortly after that."

"I can wait, thanks Alf."

"Of course. Now if you have anything you need to bring in, I'm sure Master Jason can help-"

"I'm not staying." Dick straightened, one hand resting on Ace's head. "I have work tomorrow. I plan to be back in Bludhaven tonight."

Alfred sighed. "Very well then. I shall go prepare dinner and then afterwards Master Bruce can show you what he's found."

"Actually, I was going to go take a look now, before dinner."

Jason exploded first. "NO! You are not coming here to look at some stupid evidence and then leave before he even gets back! You-"

"Master Jason!" Both boys turned and looked out of instinct.

"Don't worry, Jay, I'm staying for dinner."

oOo

Thirty minutes later, Dick and Jason sat in front of the super computer down in the Cave, Jason slouched in his chair, distractedly fiddling with a pocket knife, while Dick leaned forward, eyes glued to the screen as his fingers danced across the keyboard. He had been mildly surprised to find that his login credentials still worked, but Jason had huffed and rolled his eyes at the older boy's look of surprise upon logging in. Jason knew how sentimental Bruce could be. Now he was scrolling through the database of entries Bruce kept from each night on patrol, looking for the date matching what Alfred had told him.

"Found it yet?" Jason sighed, flipping the blade of his knife open and examining the edge.

"No," Dick grunted, hardly hesitating in his search. "Ah, got it."

Jason looked up, straightening slightly as though only mildly interested.

"You said you weren't on patrol with him this night?" Dick eagerly clicked to open the file. The screen flooded with folders and documents and photo thumbnails.

"Nah, I was grounded."

Dick held back a laugh. He knew Jason got in trouble – exorbitantly more than he'd ever managed to get into in his own time at the Manor. The boy had a rebellious streak stronger than anything even Artemis had managed to cook up.

Shaking the thought, Dick started opening files. The first document contained Bruce's monologue of the night transcribed into writing. The next was a list of major events transpiring that evening. Dick found his hand shaking as he started scrolling.

Jason was leaning forward now as well, his eyes narrowed as he scanned each entry. "Yikes, didn't know the old man wrote down _everything_. Hah, 'saw stray cat'. Probably feeling sentimental for Selina."

Dick hardly heard Jason; his eye had been caught by a note Bruce added saying 'Cadmus'. What followed was a brief summary of conversation Bruce had overhead between two goonies on the east docks. They were discussing a previous week's shipment that had included 'biomass' as well as obscure chemicals and a few radioactive elements. There was short note explaining that Batman had thought he'd heard the name 'Cadmus' mentioned, as well as a 'Doctor Donovan'.

Reaching the end of the text, Dick didn't realize how quickly he was breathing until he first became aware of how badly his hand was shaking as he tried to close the document. Immediately he was assaulted with a host of files and pictures, all retelling the story of one event: his kidnapping. Even in the miniscule photo previews, Dick could make out images of the burning lab, of the original Cadmus laboratories, even of Dick himself, lying unconscious and dying in a hospital bed.

Bruce had everything. Everything from those few months. Everything he'd used to track down Donovan, everything he'd used to assure that Dick would be okay, that he wouldn't morph into some genetic freak, that Batman wasn't going to lose his soldier to a nut-job in a lab coat.

"Dick?"

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm and Dick jumped, eyes tearing away from the screen and the images and the files.

"Are you okay?"

And then he was aware of his breathing, his heart rate, the way his muscles were tense. A dull ache in his leg and a sharp, stabbing pain in his hand. With one shaky breath, Dick forced himself to calm down. To come out of that dark place and remember where he was, sitting next to his _little brother_ , on the verge of a panic attack.

"Y-yeah, I'm okay." Dick ran a hand through his hair and turned to face Jason. "It's fine."

"You didn't look okay a second ago." Jason leaned around Dick, his hand still gently gripping the older boy's arm, as he stared at the screen. "What's all this about?"

Taking a deep breath, Dick glanced back at the screen, debating how to answer his brother. Jason already had a basic understanding of what had happened to his adopted sibling at the age of fourteen, why he was petrified of needles, why Jason wasn't allowed to kick Dick's knee or hand when sparring, or play dirty and sneak into his blind spot. But the boy had been spared the gory details. He didn't know that Dick had been tortured and experimented on for months on end, that the man who'd kidnapped him had been certifiably insane and competent in medicine bordering on supernatural. He didn't truly understand why Dick would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, or sometimes refused to go to bed at all. Why bright lights were a big "no", for reasons other than they hurt his damaged eyes. Jason knew what he needed to know, but nothing more. And Dick wished he could keep it that way.

"This is everything Bruce gathered when he was looking for me after I got kidnapped, as Robin."

Jason raised his eyebrows, scooting forward. "And Bruce thinks these guys, who kidnapped you, are still out there? I thought he blew them up."

Dick tore his eyes from the screen again, the memory of the hot flames licking at the backs of his consciousness. "Bruce didn't blow them up, they blew themselves up. More or less." There was no way in _hell_ Dick would ever tell Jason about _her_. Sometimes, he even believed for a moment she was just a bad a dream. A terrible, awful nightmare.

"Okay, but they still blew up. Blowing up is typically something you don't come back from."

Dick shook his head, not wanting to look Jason in the eyes. "Bruce never found the bodies."

It had taken nearly four years before Bruce finally admitted to what Dick had believed to be the truth all along. Donovan's body was never found. A body, a woman's body, burnt to a crisp and unrecognizable, had been pulled from the wreckage, but that was all that remained of Doctor Donovan's underground lab. The structure itself was fine – most of the equipment was destroyed, the walls burnt and ash and debris scattered everywhere, though it stood, safe underground – but no bodies. Bruce believed that at the time of the explosion, there were only two people left in the lab, and there was no way that Donovan could have gotten away, through the flames blocking every entrance, but there was no proof.

Jason whistled.

"What?" Dick followed the boy's gaze.

"That's a huge-ass explosion."

Squinting, Dick saw a small image in the upper right corner depicting the initial blast, probably caught on a security camera from across the street.

"Language, Master Jason."

Jason whirled, eyes wide.

Lips twitching, Alfred stepped into the light. "Supper is nearly ready and Master Bruce has just arrived. I request both of your presence' in the dining room. Jason, don't forget your meds."

"Got it, Old Man." Jason stood quickly and brushed past Alfred.

"You as well, Master Richard."

"I'm coming Alfred, don't worry." Dick closed the open files and logged out of the computer. His leg gave a twinge when he stood and he wondered if it was going to rain again.

"Are you alright?" Alfred relaxed a bit and moved closer to Dick.

"Fine." A chill ran up Dick's spine and he shoved his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling cold. The darkness seemed to seep in from the edges of the Cave, pressing in closer and closer. "What's for dinner?"

Alfred gazed at Dick for a long moment. "You know he worries about you, sir. He won't tell Bruce, but he often asks about you, when I pick him up from school, or when he is helping me in the kitchen."

"I know."

"I do hope you're taking care of yourself, Master Richard, if only for his sake."

oOo

Dinner turned out to be only a slightly awkward affair. Alfred had cooked an impressive meal and seemed to have come prepared with a repertoire of easy questions guaranteed too elicit merely the slightest reactions to their utter dullness. Bruce sat at the head of the table, still dressed from work, his hair slicked back in same way it had been for years, brow slightly furrowed as he focused on the piece of meat on his plate. Jason sat to his left, with Dick farther down the table, next to Jason, as the younger boy had orchestrated. The youngest seemed perfectly happy to spend the majority of his energy attacking the large pile of potatoes, vegetables, and steak piled on his plate and only occasionally looked up to grunt in acknowledgement to one of Alfred's inquiries.

Dick spent the first part of the meal savoring the taste of real food and managed to refill his plate before even Jason finished his first. After greeting Bruce cordially upon first arriving, he then strove to avoid eye-contact with the older man and instead helped Alfred carry on a conversation about the recent storms they'd been experiencing and whether increased showers would result in increased flowers. So far, him and Bruce hadn't been forced to interact and Dick thought that if it stayed that way until the end of the night, he would consider the whole fiasco a success.

"And Master Richard, how is your internship going at the police station?"

Swallowing, Dick threw Alfred a nervous glance before addressing the empty chair across the table. "It's going well. The Commissioner is an experienced officer, but he always seems to find time to talk to me. He's shared a lot of stories about Bludhaven – nearly rivals Gotham at times."

Bruce grunted at this. "And school?" The man asked, looking up briefly from cutting his chicken. "You will be enrolling next fall?"

"Yeah." Dammit Alfred, safe topics. "I've already chosen classes."

"I don't suppose advanced calculus is one of those classes?" Bruce asked it like a question, but Dick knew it was a statement, one full of disappointment.

"No, believe it or not, cops don't really need to know how to calculate the integral of a parabola." Dick's tone held enough bite to tear through Jason's steak.

"Well," Jason spoke, loudly. "Looks like I'm gonna be a cop too then."

Despite himself, Dick flashed Jason a grin.

Bruce wasn't to be deterred, however. "And the apartment? Everything is fine there?"

"Yep." Dick chanced a quick glance at Bruce and narrowed his eyes in a glare, daring the man to continue.

"Good."

And then silence prevailed, apart from the clinking of silverware against china. After a moment, Alfred asked Jason about school – a safe topic – and the boy rambled on for fifteen minutes how his teachers were out to get him because they knew he was from the streets and they were scared he'd grow up to be some sort of mobster if they didn't beat it out of him (figuratively, of course, Alfred assured). Dick could see the slightest hint of honesty behind Jason's words and he knew Bruce could too, by the way the man looked at his newest son, eyes belying the wish that he could fix everything and make it okay.

Up until Alfred brought out dessert, the thin sheet of calm held. Dick even felt comfortable enough to join in a conversation with Bruce about the Gotham Academy's new proposal to fully renovate the athletic facilities and put in an Olympic-sized pool and gymnastics arena. Apparently, the Commissioner was pushing for the money to be used elsewhere, but the affluent families of Gotham all saw dreams of grandeur for their children in the form of Olympic medals and honors.

As Alfred bore the chocolate silk pie out on a silver platter, Dick believed for one brief moment that the evening would be a success. Or at least, not a failure. Alfred served them all a generous helping of pie and again silence fell as the delicacy was devoured. Dick was just reaching for another bite with his fork, when a small shock traveled down his right forearm and his hand locked up, causing his fork to fall and clatter against the side of his plate.

To a casual observer, it might appear that Dick's hand had merely slipped and dropped the fork, but Bruce's eagle eyes immediately snapped to the spot of the foul, narrowing in suspicion. Quickly, Dick withdrew the offending appendage, wincing slightly as the damaged muscles continued to clench and spasm. He deftly picked up the fork with his left hand and made to continue eating, but the damage was done.

"Is your arm alright, Dick?" Bruce had laid down his own fork and was watching Dick closely. Jason, who hadn't seemed to notice anything at first, looked up at these words.

"Fine," Dick shrugged, meeting Bruce's gaze steadily for a second before turning away.

"You need to take care of that technology, it's extremely complex."

"I know. And I'm fine."

"Have you been to Leslie recently? You know she expects you to see her every four months."

"I'm _fine_ , Bruce." Now Dick looked up again and glared at his old guardian. " _Fine_."

"What's wrong, Dickie-bird, afraid of the doctor?" Jason had a half-smirk on his face as he turned his gaze from Bruce to his older brother.

"Shut up, Jay."

"Richard John Grayson."

"What?!" Dick felt the anger rising hot in his chest.

"You will not speak that way in this house."

"Really? Really?!" Dick glared. "That's all you've got to say to me? I yell at Jay and you act like I'm some rude, disrespectful dinner guest?"

"Yeesh, I'm sorry Dick, I didn't mean it."

Dick looked down at his brother, both arms raised slightly as if in surrender.

"I think that's quite enough for one night." Alfred stood and sent both Dick and Bruce cold looks. "I will clean up while you two go downstairs and take care of business. Master Jason, I expect your help."

"What?" Jason squawked, rising indignantly.

Rising to his feet and pushing his chair in, Dick skirted the table and followed Bruce out of the room, to the sound of Jason attempting to argue with Alfred. He was still fuming, his hands trembling as the adrenaline coursed through his body. It used to be like this every time he fought with Bruce. His fight or flight instincts would kick in and every cell in his body would be screaming ' _fight'_. It happened, once or twice, but those were dark nights that neither Dick nor Bruce cared to ever remember.

They took the stairs down to the cave and the short walk gave Dick time to reign in his wild energy and get a grip on his emotions. He knew that fighting Bruce now would accomplish nothing. If they could go in, get the information, and get out, every party would be benefit.

Bruce wasted no time in sitting down at the computer and pulling up a wide collection of files and images. Before opening any of them, however, he turned in his chair to face Dick.

"Is your hand alright?" The man's voice was gruff and it took every ounce of self-control for Dick not to yell back.

After a moment, he responded in a calm voice. "Like I said, it's fine. I think… a wire shorted or something, just briefly. I'll look at it when I get home."

For a moment, Bruce looked like he wanted to argue, but then he let out a very small sigh. "Dick, you would tell me if something was ever wrong?"

"I can take care of myself, Bruce."

"Hmmm. I mean very wrong." The piercing glare that locked onto Dick's eyes nearly forced the younger man to turn away.

A moment passed. "Yes."

"Good." And with that, Bruce turned back to the computer and started opening files.

The next half hour was spent listening as Bruce overanalyzed every detail in every scene he pulled up from the last six months. What had started as merely a conversation between two thugs working a smuggling deal at the docks had blossomed into a full-scale investigation into an underworld trade circle of illegal drugs and stimulants. According to questionable sources, one man had made a name for himself selling stimulants and pain-killers that could do more than just improve physical performance and reduce pain, but could actually accelerate healing and restore lost motor function. While perhaps mildly impressive, in a world full of aliens and flying men and even magic, it was little to bat an eye at.

However, the rumors didn't end there. After the enigmatic drug lord, details got fuzzy, but Bruce had managed to piece together enough accounts to form a vague outline of some other force at play, claiming to do more than even regenerate tissue. Dick held back a scoff as Bruce explained how the talk on the street said something of genetic modification resulting in extraordinary abilities and even… the reanimation of the dead.

Genetic modification, definitely Donovan's calling card, no questions asked. Dick would believe that, whether it was actually Donovan behind it or not. Extraordinary abilities, sure, that wasn't unheard of. But reanimating the dead? The only person he'd ever heard of to successfully bring someone back from the beyond was Ra's Al Ghul, and he wasn't one to share his secrets. With anyone. Period.

"So," Dick began, once Bruce finally finished his exhaustive run-through and subsequent analysis. "You think that… Donovan is still alive and somehow selling a drug that raises the dead to life?"

"I think it is a possibility that Donovan is alive and is making claims of working on such a drug, yes." Bruce turned from the computer screen to his eldest.

Dick brought a hand up to run along the bottom of his chin, feeling the very faint stubble from not having shaved in a few days. "Seems a little out there, even for Gotham."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his arms coming up to cross in front of his chest, waiting for Dick to continue.

"I mean," hands coming to rest on the sides of his chair, Dick took another look at the compilation of stories and evidence. "I've seen some crazy shit, Bruce, don't get me wrong, but raising the dead… that's a whole other deck of cards. Sure, Ra's can do it, but he has some type acid pool that's probably been around since the beginning of time and I don't think even he understands how it works. To create a drug that can bring back the dead… You'd hafta know a hell of a lot of science, Bruce. People have been working on that sort of thing for decades. Aliens, magicians, genetic scientists, and _no one_ has even come _close_. And now you think Donovan, some crack-head, psychopathic maniac thinks he can somehow scientifically bring back someone's _soul_ , I just don't buy it. I mean, sure you have some evidence of rumors, but people say crazy shit in Gotham, anything to make money, it's-"

"Dick, breathe."

As if grabbed by some invisible force, Dick froze. Suddenly he was aware of how quickly he was breathing, of the way his hands were shaking as their grip on the chair grew stronger. His face felt hot and airy and there was a mild ringing in his airs. He'd nearly lost it. _Again_. In front of Bruce.

Shakily taking a deep breath, Dick fought to bring his heartrate down. He closed his eyes briefly and forced himself to let the chair out of his death-grip.

"No one said anything about bringing back souls, Dick." Bruce was watching the younger man carefully, his eyes narrowed. "Reanimating dead bodies doesn't have to equate to raising someone from the dead. The person could be gone while their body lives on."

"So, you think Donovan is going to sell people zombie-versions of their loved ones?"

"Perhaps."

"Look, Bruce, I appreciate you calling me down to look at this and not leaving me in the dark, but I'm not convinced yet. Maybe if some concrete evidence shows up then sure, I'll help you look into it, but I've got a job, a city of my own to watch, the Team-"

"Dick, I want you to move home."

Again, Dick froze. "What?"

"With Donovan alive, I don't think it's safe for you to be living on your own, in the city where the man set up his last laboratory nonetheless."

"You've believed Donovan to be alive this whole time!" Dick could feel his temper rising with heartbeat and he struggled not to rise from his chair. "Just because you only just found evidence that he really is, you suddenly expect me to abandon everything and come back here?"

"I've always wanted you to come back, Dick."

"I know! That's the problem!" Now Dick let his control dissolve and he felt himself rise from his chair. "You've never believed I could make it on my own! That I could finally move out from your shadow and be my own person. Well news flash, Bruce, I'm fine. I've been fine. I have a job, I'm going to school next year, I'm still alive, and I'm using everything _you_ taught me to make a difference in a city that needs me. Most fathers would be _proud_ of their sons for what I'm doing. But you're not. You're so _stuck_ in your own pig-headed beliefs that you're only pleased when I'm following your orders. I'm not a kid anymore, Bruce. I'm eighteen!" Dick found himself panting, his fists clenched as his body moved into a fighting stance as though in a trance. His next words were low, but carried throughout the cave. "And I've been an adult since my parents died and you trained me to be your soldier."

"Richard," Bruce stood as well, eyes dark and piercing. In that moment, it was Batman who stood facing Dick, shoulders squared and stance boasting confidence and righteousness.

"I'm leaving."

"No."

"No? Sorry, I don't obey your orders anymore."

"You're not ready for this. We live in a world where standing alone gets us killed."

"That's rich, coming from you, the lone crusader. Refuses help from anyone when it comes to his _precious_ city."

"That's not true. I had you, and now I have Jason."

"Yeah, your little minions, trained to carry out your every command. Bet it's a bit of a shock to your system to have someone questioning your orders now, huh? Jason might be a little brat, but he's his own person. Something I never was."

"You're not equipped to handle this alone. Especially not something so personal."

"I'm not moving back here based on a hunch you have. You're the most paranoid person I know."

"If you can't take care of yourself in daily life, how are you supposed to handle this?"

"So now you think I can't take care of myself? I _told_ you I'm _fine_."

"You're not fine. Something's wrong with your arm, Jason told me he incapacitated you at the door-"

"No." Dick took a step forward and nailed Bruce in the chest with his finger. The one cased in metal. "You just miss me and you're too prideful to admit it. You've never been good at expressing – or even acknowledging – your feelings. I'm not coming back here to play into your ego." Letting his hand fall, Dick took a step back. "Good-bye, Bruce. Let me know if you find anything _real_."

And with that, Dick turned and made his way up through the cave to the steps. In the distant, he thought he heard Bruce speak, but it was so soft, Dick doubted it was really there. As he rounded the final corner and reached the exit, he found Jason, standing with his back pressed again the wall, clearly having been listening. Dick gave his brother a look in which he attempted to communicate ' _I'm sorry'_ , before brushing past the boy and walking out.


End file.
